


You Don't Have To Put On The Red Light

by Wembley



Series: That Series Where I Made Weyoun A Hooker And It Started Out Lulzy But Then It Got All Dark And Shit [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wembley/pseuds/Wembley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crackfic. Weyoun's a hooker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Have To Put On The Red Light

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Contains: No actual doin' it.
> 
> Spoilers: Takes place around S5-ish.

"Weyoun." Sisko's smile was wide and clenched. Meetings with the Dominion. Never fun, never straightforward, always a waste of precious time. Lies, more lies, maybe a moment of useful information.

The doors to his office slid shut. Weyoun smiled pleasantly. What he likely assumed was pleasantly, anyway. "Captain." The smile vanished. He looked concerned. No, he looked _hurt_. Which meant nothing -- Weyoun had always been adept at believing his own nonsense. "The Dominion is very concerned with how tense relations have become between our people."

"Tense," Sisko said, his smile nearly a grimace, "is an understatement." The cold war between them was in danger of growing hot any moment. Possibly this moment.

"Which is why the Founders wished to present you a gift as a token of our goodwill."

Sisko wondered exactly how Trojan this horse would turn out to be. "A gift."

Weyoun stepped forward. This time, he didn't just smile. He _beamed_. "Me."

Sisko blinked. Then he blinked again. "You."

Weyoun looked confused for a moment. His eyes widened and he laughed. "Oh! Oh, forgive me -- I'm not the Weyoun you've interacted with previously."

Maybe Weyoun had a virus he'd spread throughout the station. Something genetically engineered. Something telepathic. Or maybe he'd just explode. "You're another clone?"

"Of a slightly different sort." Weyoun stepped forward. Sisko braced, waiting for the other shoe to drop, trying to project a combination of nonchalance and _Don't cross me if you want your head to stay attached to your neck._

"I've been engineered specifically to..." Weyoun slid easily into Sisko's personal space. "...ease your tension." He lowered his voice, his eyelids, leaned in. "Reward your every desire."

Sisko stared. Stared some more. Then, he burst out laughing.

He sagged with relief as Weyoun joined him, laughing just as loud. Sisko folded, grabbing his desk for support. "I-- hoo! I-- for a moment, I really thought you were serious."

Weyoun laughed, hard and genuine, nodding. "Oh, I am, I really am."

Sisko stopped laughing. Weyoun's laughter trailed off. He glanced warily at Sisko, as if uncertain on how to proceed.

Sisko took a very, very deep breath and prayed that, any moment, he'd wake up. "Starfleet officers cannot -- do not -- accept... sentient gifts-- _I_ don't accept sentient... 'gifts.' And even if I did," he said, massaging his forehead, which had already started to throb, which was a new record for Weyoun's visits, "I can't believe the Dominion's intel wouldn't have told you that I prefer _women_."

Weyoun glanced at the ground, as if embarrassed to let this slip. "Our female models are currently being... retooled." He flicked a glance back up at Sisko, winding around him and sitting -- no, perching -- on the corner of his desk, hands over his knee. Good God, the man was _posing_. "But I assure you, I'm quite skilled. I'm certain that, given the chance, I could easily disabuse you of your... limitations."

This conversation needed to end. Right now. Ten minutes ago. "Weyoun--"

"Besides which," Weyoun said, and his delivery could only be described as chipper, "my anatomy is quite similar to a woman's."

Sisko's eyes widened. "Be that as it may," he said firmly, "Weyoun. I cannot accept..." The last word came out awkwardly. "... _you_."

Weyoun looked surprised, and the surprise actually looked sincere. "Oh." He frowned. "That's unfortunate."

Sisko tensed. "Unfortunate for whom?"

Weyoun tilted his head, studying his own hands. "Well, for you, of course, because we would have spent a wonderful night together. And for myself because, well, I was engineered... quite specifically." He steepled his hands, tapping his fingertips together nervously. "If we don't... consummate our... 'relationship' within twenty-four hours, I'm going to..." He glanced up at Sisko. "Disintegrate."

Any moment he'd wake up. Arms wrapped around Kasidy, ready to cook breakfast. " _Disintegrate?_ "

Weyoun studied the floor. "I'm told the experience is... most unpleasant." Looking at Sisko again, he said, "Forgive me for being so blunt, Captain, but... is there anyone on this station who _will_ have sex with me?"

***

"Well, my understanding of Vorta physiology is still minimal at best, but yes," Bashir said, running a scanner alongside Weyoun's head, "from what I can tell, he _will_ disintegrate if he doesn't..." Bashir trailed off.

"Copulate," Weyoun said helpfully.

"Copulate," Bashir said, looking nearly as disturbed as Sisko felt.

Sisko pinched the bridge of his nose. "Unbelievable."

"Doctor," Weyoun said, trailing a finger over Bashir's wrist, "has anyone ever told you what a truly attractive man you are?"

Bashir yanked his wrist away, continuing to scan. "Yes, dozens of people, all the time." He looked at Sisko. "I've taken some samples -- I'll try and see if it's possible to synthesize some kind of cure. But he doesn't have much time."

***

Of _course_ the door would chime right as she was getting out of the shower. Strange of Odo to stop by early. He was never late, never early, always exactly on time, to the nanosecond. "Come in! Just a minute!"

"Major!" That wasn't Odo's voice.

She stared, dripping wet, towel wrapped around herself, as Weyoun stood in her doorway. His smile was wide. He had flowers. "Major Kira, you're looking lovely as ever."

"Get out."

"Of course," he said, still smiling, backing out of the doorway.

***

"I feel sorry for him," Dax said, tracing a circle on the back of Worf's hand.

"I do not," Worf said, which surprised her not one bit.

"He's hit on everybody in the bar. I actually thought he was about to make it happen with one of the dabo girls, but from what I could tell, Quark has her on back-to-back shifts." She tried to keep her voice down. Weyoun was seated at the bar a meter or two away. "Even _Morn_ said no. Morn never says no to _anyone_."

At the moment, Weyoun was leaning over the bar, ghosting a finger just above Quark's left ear. "The things I know about oo-mox could render you speechless."

Quark looked two parts terrified, one part flustered. "Leeeet me get you a drink." He nearly crashed into the bottles behind the bar, he backed up so fast.

Weyoun slumped back into his seat. "In that case, get me some of that Klingon bloodwine. I hear it dulls the senses delightfully."

Dax rested her chin on her hand. "Poor guy."

Worf knocked back his prune juice. "The Vorta are our enemies. He does not deserve your sympathy."

"Come on, Worf." She dialed it down to a whisper. "I mean, he's going to _disintegrate_. Now, sometimes I _feel_ like I'll disintegrate if it's been too long, but--"

"Jadzia!" Dax gave him a hooded stare. "There are _people_ around." She just shook her head.

A thought struck her. Smiling, she returned her index finger to Worf's hand, tracing another lazy circle. "You know, we've both been talking about ways to spice things up..."

Worf's glare was colder than Breen. " _No._ "

"You're no fun."

"Hey!" Quark shouted as Weyoun left with his bloodwine, "you can't just walk out of here with the glassware!"

***

"Ah," Odo said, "Major--"

That wasn't Kira at the door to his office.

Actually, it was Weyoun.

He looked drunk.

"I'm quite drunk," Weyoun said helpfully, wobbling slightly. "After just a glass. Apparently Vorta and bloodwine don't mix."

He'd been briefed about this. Which meant things were about to get extremely awkward. "I think you should go," Odo said, trying his best to sound not unkind. It didn't exactly work.

"I would do anything you asked," Weyoun said, eyes too wide, stare unsettling -- worshipful, to a degree that gave Odo chills, or would have, if he were capable of having chills -- "Including leave. But, since I'm inebriated and if I weren't, I wouldn't, I just need to say--" Oh, no.

Weyoun stumbled forward, grasping the front of Odo's desk, his reverent stare full-on. "To make love to a _god_ would be..." He seemed to be groping for the appropriate language. Which put him in the same predicament as Odo, really.

Right as he opened his mouth, Weyoun blinked hard, tilted his head, then un-tilted it. He stood up straight. "And now I'm no longer drunk." He looked down at his hands grasping the desk, and then at Odo. Then he stood very still for a few moments. "Oh, dear."

With that, he turned and walked out.

***

Garak saw him seated alone in the replimat, nursing the dregs of what appeared to be bloodwine, of all things. He pulled out a chair. "May I?"

"By all means," Weyoun said, polite, but not even bothering to look at him.

Garak sat. "I've found that one of the few benefits of living on this station is the speed at which gossip spreads."

Weyoun still didn't look at him. "I take it that means you know?"

"It does." Garak leaned in. "And I do believe I may be able to assist you with your little... problem."

Weyoun finally looked up. His eyes widened.

Well. That was quite a smile.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chesari for the beta work. Comment here or [here](http://wemblee.livejournal.com/636685.html) (livejournal).


End file.
